


eventually the birds must land

by notquiteaghost



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide attempt, Pre-Relationship, Queer Themes, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-27
Updated: 2015-06-27
Packaged: 2018-04-06 12:19:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4221480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notquiteaghost/pseuds/notquiteaghost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Sheppard always wears long sleeves</em>.</p><p>A story about secrets, and friendship, and the steady evolution of friendship into family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	eventually the birds must land

**Author's Note:**

> title is from '[unfinished duet](http://words-of-wisdom.livejournal.com/102908.html)' by richard siken, because really, what could i title this fic with other than siken.
> 
>  **warnings for discussion of past self-harm, discussion of past suicidal thoughts  & suicide attempts, discussion of past homophobia & ableism, & allusions to past parental emotional abuse (john's dad)**. this gets pretty heavy; be safe.

Sheppard always wears long sleeves.

Rodney had only noticed in the way you notice things about people you spend nearly all your time with - this insignificant fact categorized in his head along with 'Sheppard has a tattoo on his stomach' and 'Sheppard's ambidextrous', and 'Teyla always eats meat and vegetables separately' and 'Radek hates in-ear headphones with a burning passion'. It was just a quirk, presumably some reason behind it but as it had yet to be relevant or seem particularly interesting, Rodney had never bothered to ask.

And then they visit a planet in the middle of a heatwave. A planet of mostly desert, so the ambient temperature alone is hot by Atlantis standards, and now it's even hotter.

They've barely been there ten minutes before Ronon takes off his shirt.

Rodney himself is wearing a t-shirt and trousers he rolled up but is now contemplating outright cutting. He can feel sweat dripping down the backs of his thighs. Teyla is wearing nothing but a cut-off sleeveless shirt and a loose, knee-length skirt - the only one of them who actually dressed for the weather. Rodney is incredibly, incredibly jealous of her skirt.

And Sheppard is wearing his long-sleeved fleece shirt thing. Rodney is quite surprised he hasn't fainted yet, especially as he's relatively certain Sheppard is wearing another shirt under the fleece thing.

"Sheppard, do you _want_ to get heatstroke?"

Sheppard looks at Rodney with a confused frown, reminiscent of a puppy who can't work out where the ball you just threw has gone. ...A train of thought that suggests maybe _Rodney_ is getting heatstroke.

"What?"

"Oh please, don't try and tell me you're not boiling in that shirt."

Sheppard's frown clears, replaced by a very pointed non-expression that isn't fooling Rodney for a minute. "I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" Teyla asks. Rodney throws her a grateful look - he has a reputation as an anxious hypochondriac, but she has a reputation as the clear-headed voice of reason. If Sheppard will listen to anyone, it's Teyla.

"I'm _fine_."

"Suit yourself. But if you collapse from heatstroke or dehydration or exhaustion, I won't help carry you."

Sheppard gives Rodney a look, the slant of his eyebrows very clearly indicating his thoughts on Rodney's ability to carry him under any circumstances. Rodney ignores him.

They lapse back into silence. It's not far to the village where they're supposed to make some trading agreement or another - though Rodney doesn't know what exactly the inhabitants of this desert wasteland could have to offer, or even how they live here at all - only another twenty minutes walk or so. Rodney isn't actually, seriously worried about Sheppard.

But this is new data, an elaboration on old data that throws things in an interesting light. Sheppard always wears long sleeves, no matter what, even to the point of discomfort and potential injury.

That's less of a personal quirk and more of a compulsion.

Rodney thinks it over, because God knows there's nothing more interesting to think about on this planet, and realises he can't remember ever having even glimpsed flashes of Sheppard's bare arms. Which is quite impressive, really, considering he's seen Sheppard's bare stomach, bare chest, bare legs.

A pattern like that almost definitely means Sheppard is hiding his arms on purpose.

Mulling over why is a great way to pass the time as they trudge through too-hot sand under a too-hot sun. Tattoos? Self-confidence issues? A really ugly scar? A not-so ugly scar with an embarrassing origin? A _tattoo_ with an embarrassing origin?

Rodney kind of gets stuck on tattoos. He already knows Sheppard has one, at least, so it's by far the most likely option. Also? Incredibly hot.

By the time they reach the village, Rodney is really just contemplating the idea of Sheppard with tattoos. It's an idea with a lot of possibilities, and could probably occupy him for hours. Days, even.

He's jerked out of his contemplation by Sheppard collapsing.

* * *

John comes awake slowly, slow enough that it takes a minute or so for the pounding headache to register. When it does, he groans.

"Sheppard?"

He blinks his eyes open, which surprisingly doesn't make his headache worse. He's in a darkened room, and it's cool, and he's lying on what he thinks is a bed, and oh shit he passed out didn't he.

"You passed out." Ronon says, helpfully. "McKay says you've got heatstroke. He also says 'I told you so'."

"Where is he?" John pushes himself into more of an upright position, and then immediately regrets it when a wave of nausea hits. But he stays sat up, because Ronon is looking at him worriedly, and when Ronon is looking worried you know it's bad.

"Negotiating trade with Teyla. I got to stay with you because I'm the worst at negotiations."

"Oh, thanks, I feel so special."

Ronon grins. "McKay wanted to stay with you, but the people here have technology, so Teyla insisted she needed him more."

"How long was I out?"

"Not long. Fifteen minutes at most. Are you up to drinking? McKay was very insistent that you drink."

John thinks about it for a moment, then shrugs, and that's when the chill on his shoulders finally registers and he realises he's not wearing a shirt.

Shit.

Ronon must notice the way he tenses up, because he says, "Our opinion of you has not changed. McKay will probably rant at you, but that's only because he's annoyed that you thought you couldn't trust us with this."

"It's not about trust." John says, immediately, probably too sharp to be that convincing. "It's-- I don't like looking at them."

Ronon doesn't say anything to that, but the look on his face says he doesn't entirely believe him.

So John snaps, "Surely you have scars you don't like thinking about?"

"No." Ronon says, slowly, measuredly. "There's no point refusing to accept something you cannot change."

God, John should've known he'd say that.

"Yeah, well, I've always been too stubborn for that." John says, grinning humourlessly. He wants to say something else, doesn't want to fall into silence, wants to maybe provoke Ronon into an argument and do something with all this tension, but then the door swings open and Rodney and Teyla walk in.

"--I'm just saying, there's no logical reason for-- Oh, you're awake."

"How are you feeling?" Teyla asks, soft and caring as always, as she moves to rest the back of her hand against John's forehead.

"My head is pounding and I think at some point I'm gonna throw up, but it's a definite improvement on earlier."

"What, when you were 'fine'?" Rodney asks, raising an eyebrow and looking a mix of pissed off and smug.

"I didn't think I was going to pass out!"

"Oh, so that's okay then, what's a bit of heatstroke as long as no one loses consciousness, right?" Rodney folds his arms, smugness melting away and more anger appearing to take it's place. "Y'know, on Earth, when someone gets heatstroke you're meant to take them to hospital. If untreated, people die."

"I thought I could make it to the village!"

"You were wearing a _fleece_ when it's nearly _45 degrees Celsius_!"

And John doesn't have a response to that, because he knew he was being irrational and probably putting himself in unnecessary danger, but he kept thinking about what might happen if they saw. Somehow, that felt like worse of an outcome than passing out from heatstroke.

When he stays silent, Rodney deflates somewhat, anger dissipating and being replaced by quiet frustration. "You didn't have to-- We don't care, Sheppard. _John_. We don't think less of you, or bad of you, or whatever, we don't... We don't _care_."

John doesn't have a response to that, either.

"I'm not going to hold a grudge for a thought process that was obviously adversely affected by some complex you have." Rodney continues, his voice sincere like it almost never is, and of all the reactions John was expecting, this was definitely not one of them. "A complex you are completely justified in having. I don't blame you for not trusting us with this, I just-- You scared us. It's bad enough that you keep almost getting killed by the Wraith and your shit luck and an assortment of random hostile wildlife, you don't get to pitch in too."

A few moments of silence pass, Rodney's words hanging in the air and making it thick and hard to breathe, and then John clears his throat and asks, "How did the negotiations go?"

"Well. They have a water filtration system I suspect could be of much use that they agreed to trade for a very reasonable price."

"Good. That's good. So we can leave?"

"Yes, John, we can leave."

John nods, then takes the water bottle Ronon's holding out, drinks half of it in one go, and says, "I think I might need you to carry me."

* * *

Rodney and John are not the sort of friends who talk.

They're the sort of friends who watch movies together, and play games, and periodically rescue each other from mortal peril, though that last one is more of a side effect of their job and their shitty luck than any kind of personal inclination.

But in light of today - in light of the mess of overlapping scars on the insides of John's forearms, faded into white but still raised, a couple looking deep enough that part of Rodney is surprised John is still here - Rodney finds himself walking to John's quarters an hour or so after dinner armed with four bottles of relatively decent beer and a sense of grim determination.

John looks surprised to see Rodney when his door opens, but he steps back to let him in when Rodney holds up the beer.

"I do have regular appointments with Dr. Heightmeyer, you know." John says, though his tone is light and he's smiling. He takes a seat on his bed, and Rodney takes a seat beside him, for lack of any other options.

"So do I." Rodney says, easily. "Though I suspect for very different reasons."

"Oh?"

"I have an anxiety disorder. Anxiety doesn't really lend itself towards suicide or self-harm, not on it's own, though it is incredibly comorbid with depression. But not in my case. I do, admittedly, have some self-worth issues - something that will come as a surprise to you, I'm sure - but I've never... been that way inclined."

John takes a bottle out of Rodney's hand, opens it and downs half in one go, a very understandable reaction to emotional vulnerability.

Then he sets the bottle down on the floor by his feet and says, "What, you show me yours, I show you mine?"

"I figured it was only fair." Rodney shrugs.

John contemplates that for a few seconds, staring straight ahead and not looking at Rodney, before saying, "I do have depression. Have done since I was ten. I've been on antidepressants for long enough to find ones that actually work, with minimal side effects. I'm as good as I'm ever gonna get, probably." He gestures with one hand to his other arm. "Six years clean. My best yet."

Rodney nods. "Have you been in therapy since you were ten, or is that a retroactive diagnosis?"

The second the question is out of his mouth he realises he shouldn't have asked, that John doesn't like talking at the best of times and Rodney shouldn't push, but John laughs, bitterly, and says, "My father doesn't believe in therapy. Or depression. Or mental illness as a whole, really. Mostly he called me lazy and selfish."

Maybe he does need to talk, sometimes. He _is_ military - repression to a dangerous level is par for the course, really.

But Rodney at least has the sense not to say that.

"If I ever meet him, I'm going to punch him."

"Y'know, Ronon said the exact same thing."

"Good. We can both punch him. Teyla, too."

"I'm pretty sure none of you are ever going to meet my father. We're not exactly on speaking terms."

"Golly, I wonder why." Rodney says, darkly, still imagining punching him. The sound of his nose breaking would be incredibly satisfying.

"Well..." John starts, and then doesn't say anything else. Rodney looks at him, and he looks like the words have got caught in his throat.

"Well?"

"There were other factors."

"What, besides the ableism? Let me guess, he's a homophobe too. And a Republican. Can you break someone's nose multiple times?"

John huffs another laugh at that, less bitter this time, and hearing it feels like Rodney's won something. "I can't say I've ever tried."

"There's a first time for everything." Rodney says, brightly.

Another pause, in which Rodney finally opens a bottle of beer for himself and John finishes off his first, opens his second, and then says, "You knew?"

"What, that you're about as straight as Ian McKellen?" John shoves him at that, so Rodney sombers up. "After you date one closeted military man, they become remarkably easy to spot. There's this degree of desperate overcompensating that's very recognisable, once you know what to look for. Have I mentioned lately how much I truly despise the American military?"

"I'm sure it's come up once or twice, yeah." John says, then finally turns to look at Rodney and asks, "Should I have known?"

"I'm certainly not in the closet, if that's what you're asking. And I'm bi, for clarity's sake. I just don't make a habit of discussing what men I find attractive around members of the military. It never seems to work out that well."

"That's one way of putting it."

"You'd be surprised, though. How many members of this expedition aren't straight. I mean, not that most of them can talk about it without the informal equivalent of an NDA - again, I truly, truly despise the American military - but it's quite remarkable. A far bit above the expected percentages. Almost suspicious, even."

"Ah yes, the government's secret plan. Ship all the gays to another galaxy."

Rodney shrugs non-committally. "Their loss."

"Yeah." John says, taking another swig of his beer. Rodney finds himself getting slightly caught up in watching his throat work as he swallows. John Sheppard really is unfairly attractive. 

Not that now is an at all appropriate time for such thoughts.

"I was fourteen, the first time." John's staring ahead again, picking at the label on the bottle with a fingernail. "My dad... I wanted to join the Air Force, he had other ideas. And then I realised the Air Force wasn't exactly a viable option, and it, well. It had been my only good option." He takes one last swig of his beer, emptying it. Rodney wordlessly hands him the fourth bottle. "God, my dad was so angry."

"The Daedalus is due back soon, right?"

"You're not taking two months to go to Earth just to punch my father, Rodney."

"But it would be so _satisfying_."

John smiles at that. Or at least, makes a very worthy attempt at a smile. "He's not worth all that effort."

"Okay, you have me there." Rodney swallows around the lump in his throat and tries to focus on the anger, because it's far better than the alternative. The idea of John, a teenager, hurting and scared and with no one to turn to... Rodney swallows again. "I might of not been entirely honest, earlier. About my, er. Past inclinations."

John stays silent in a way that somehow encourages Rodney to keep talking.

"I mean, what queer person gets through high school without thinking about it, right? And I was... high school was already pretty hellish. I never went through with it, but I made a lot of plans. Drafted notes." Rodney huffs a laugh. "Jeannie started to hide all of the sharp objects."

Something flickers across John's face at that, and Rodney still can't read his less-common expressions all that well, but he knows enough about John's family to make an educated guess. Jealousy. John and his brother have never been close.

"College was better, though. More like-minded individuals, both in terms of intelligence and orientation. And someone finally made me go to a doctor about my anxiety." God, it's been years since he talked to Mark. There's a pang in his chest, a sudden swell of missing him, and Rodney makes a mental note to email him in the next databurst.

"My roommate found me face-down in the bathroom and called an ambulance." John says, casually, in a tone of voice one might use when discussing the weather. Rodney's breath catches in his throat. "The hospital wouldn't let me leave until I spoke to a psychiatrist. It was luck more than anything that she was decent."

"I didn't realise I could be more grateful that you somehow managed to live long enough to get here." Rodney manages, his voice rough. 

"The last time was after Afghanistan. The reason I got shipped out all the way to Antarctica, I think. My therapist's idea."

John's stopped picking at the beer bottle label and is instead running his thumb over and over his wrist, a movement that looks like a very old habit.

"I should've brought more beer."

"I have a few bottles." John stands, stretching his arms over his head so his shirt rises up and Rodney catches yet another brief glimpse of his stomach, of the tattoo there. If he didn't know better, Rodney would almost think John's doing it on purpose.

But that would be ludicrous - for all that half of their interactions could constitute flirting, and for all that Rodney is incredibly attracted to him, there's also the weight of ridiculous military regulations hanging over their heads, and John's not stupid. The SGC have already tried to take Atlantis away from him once. 

John moves round to the other side of the bed, pulls open a cupboard, and Rodney twists to watch him. "If we were in a slightly different universe," he says, "this would be when I kiss you."

John freezes. "I--"

"I know. It's not worth the risk." Rodney quirks a grin. "I might be very incredibly selfish, but I'm not that selfish."

"Well." John says, his voice rough, not looking away from the inside of the cupboard. "Hopefully we'll both still be alive when DADT is repealed."

"Please don't jinx it."

John does turn away from the cupboard then, to meet Rodney's eye and very deliberately knock on wood. Rodney nods, satisfied.

"Y'know, I got the Tremors DVD off Novak, last time the Daedalus was here."

"You've had it for a month without mentioning it? John, I thought we were friends!"

John grins at that, a real grin that reaches his eyes. "I'm telling you now, aren't I?"

"I suppose our friendship is salvageable, if you don't insist on talking through it."

"You enjoy my running commentary." And that's flirting, that's definitely flirting, meaning it's a sure thing that Rodney hasn't irrevocably broken their friendship by bringing up suicide attempts or kissing or DADT. He didn't notice how tense his shoulders had gotten until they loosen with relief.

"You just keep telling yourself that, Colonel, while I go and find some duct tape. Just in case."

And then they're falling into the easy, familiar rhythm of their banter, and John's playing the DVD and sitting back beside Rodney, their shoulders pressed together, and the urge to kiss him is there as always but it's at a manageable level, and this is fine. This is enough.

Rodney's alive, John's alive, the beer is good enough to be drinkable, and Rodney can make do with this. As long as he still has this, as he gets to keep this, he can make do.

**Author's Note:**

> i am [here](http://notquiteaghost.tumblr.com) on tumblr. if you liked this fic, please [click my pokefarm eggs](http://pokefarm.com/user/notquiteaghost).


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